


and they're off

by LittleMissCosmic



Series: We're Not Normal People [6]
Category: Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Different First Meeting (mentioned), Dream Sequence, Emotional Whump, Exploring Past Trauma, Hallucinations, Hurt John Constantine, Hurt Stephen Strange, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Nightmares, Post-Season 5 Spoilers, Waking Up Somewhere New, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 06:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissCosmic/pseuds/LittleMissCosmic
Summary: Waking up in a new location in an entirely different outfit was nothing new for John. However, there were three things wrong with this situation:1. This "new location" was some sort of warped, intergalactic pocket dimension that housed his personal memories.2. This "new outfit" was a hospital gown, of all things.and 3. Stephen bloody Strange was on the ground right next to him. Because of course he was.Fantastic.
Relationships: John Constantine & Stephen Strange, John Constantine/Desmond (mentioned), Stephen Strange/Original Male Character (mentioned)
Series: We're Not Normal People [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135205
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	and they're off

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!! sorry this one took so long to put out D: this is my first attempt at a "high-concept" story, with more exploration of the Doctor Strange-esque cosmic fantasy than the somewhat grounded MCU/Arrowverse settings. i've always wanted to do this kind of story-- but i'm not gonna describe it. that's for you to find out! so without further ado, please enjoy!

When John opened his eyes, he thought the world had finally ended. 

He was used to passing out and waking up somewhere entirely different. But it was usually somewhere normal, such as his bedroom, or a hotel room, or a rubbish bin disregarded in the streets. Here, however, was an entirely different reality. An entirely different world. 

Or, at least, that's what he thought. He couldn't comprehend where he was lying, due to the mismatched colors of the sky and the constellations above his head. From his limited knowledge of galactic dimensions, he wondered if it was some sort of pocketed cosmic reality. Unfortunately, he couldn't exactly focus on determining his location at the moment. The way his head was spinning signaled to him that his mind wasn't exactly straight right now. That theory was soon proven by the limpness in his body as he struggled to sit up and peer around 

"Oh, bollocks," he released a huff, his arms falling to his side. The sound of crinkling alarmed him, and John's eyes shot down and revealed a baby blue paper hospital gown hugging his figure. 

Making a face, he dug his fingers into his thigh, listening to the dress' sour crackles. 

"What the hell am I wearing?" he sneered, pulling the paper-textured fabric out. He examined it, rubbed it in between his fingers, attempted to piece together if it was real or illusionary. It all looked real, it all felt real, but it was uncanny. It was off. 

He was about to continue his way to his feet in order to navigate whatever universe he plummeted into, before a groan disturbed him. And it wasn't from him. 

As he surveyed the area for any signs of living life, his eyes landed on (who else but) an unconscious Stephen Strange, dressed in the exact same outfit as he. 

Of-bloody-course. Damnit, and he was _just_ starting to like seeing his face. 

Stephen, similar to John before he had woken up, was completely passed out. He was propped on his side, an arm outstretched above him as the other rested peacefully across his forehead. John took a moment to look at him, asleep and at ease, because like that night they had their happy hour, he looked cute. And he could finally admit that to himself. They were "friends" after all now, right? Friends could call each other cute. 

He nearly thought against waking him up, forcing him into whatever hellscape they were trapped in together. If the navy-blue sky (highlighted with streaks of lavender) were any indication, it was probably sometime after midnight. Stephen deserved to rest. He could investigate the universe a bit by himself, try to find some way out, and if not, he could just lie back down next to him and pretend he had been sleeping the whole time. 

But no. 

No, he told himself, Stephen needed to know. No, he repeated, Stephen shouldn't be subjected to waking up alone in this universe without anyone around. _No,_ he stated for the final time, _I need help, and Stephen can help me._

_I need help, and Stephen can help me._

_He always can._

"Strange?" he whispered, shaking Stephen's shoulder lightly. "Wake up."

He shook his shoulder for a few more seconds, waiting for a reaction. Right as he was about to give up, Stephen finally jolted awake in a similar confused haze. With electrified breaths, he shot up from the ground as his body shivered profusely. John muttered reassurances into his ear as his eyes, filled with momentary fear, jotted around the dimensional chaos surrounding them. 

"Constantine?" he exhaled, wrapping his arm around his body in an attempt to calm himself. John, with a bitter frown, nodded silently. Stephen blinked, failing to make sense of wherever they were. "Where are we?"

He laid a hand down on his shoulder with an exhausted glare. He motioned towards the sky with a weary, "You tell me."

Gazing past him, Stephen lifted his head and took in the mindless sky above them. A clear dark violet hue reflected in his eyes, he sat gape-mouthed with complete, utter stupefaction. His body only quaked more, rocking back and forth in tune to the falling stars. 

"I don't- I don't remember anything," he hollered in-between panicked breaths. He felt like a window being broken by stone brick, He was cracking apart and nothing could help him. Worst thing was, he didn't even know _why_. "Oh, jeez--"

"Easy, love," John offered a consoling hand on his back. "It's like 2 AM."

Stephen looked at him like he was crazy, but this time John couldn't question him. That was the only detail he remembered-- middle of the night, right past midnight. Looks like whoever kidnapped them did it when nobody would find them. 

With a grunt, he hoisted himself to his feet. He watched as Stephen followed suit, wondering if (or rather, _hoping_ that) he had a plan, because he sure didn't. 

"Well, I don't remember what happened, or why we're here, but methinks we should try and find a way--" 

John cut himself off as he swiveled on his heels and took in the rest of the plain they were trapped in. 

"Strange." 

"Mm?" Stephen tipped his head in John's direction, only for his eyes to widen and for his gaze to trail up where John was looking. 

Across them were plains and plains of fiery orange grass, as far as the eye could see. Misshapen flowers sprouted from the ground, consisting of broken diamonds and ominous floating orbs. But the ground was only a preview of what the backdrop had to offer. 

The sky was not only mismatched. There was an unearthly ripple tearing straight down the middle, with muddied spots of violet and sapphire staining through. The stars were not only vivid-- they were falling by the dozen. 

"I think I see the Starlight Glimpse now," John said.

"Oh," Stephen could only offer in response. "That's interesting."

The two stared at the starlit sky for what felt like a century, unable to comprehend where they were or how they got there. The one to ultimately snap them out of it was Stephen, who grabbed John's arm and dragged him forward. As he was pulled back into reality, John took his arm back with a sneer. 

"Oi mate, what do you think you're doing?" 

"Well," Stephen turned around motioned to the endless plains ahead of them. "We better start exploring," 

* * *

The two walked through the dimension, attempting to recall the events that brought them here. However, every attempt, whether it be through communication or trying to contact their own memories, fell through. A wave of haziness washed over them whenever they tried to piece things together-- it was futile, they decided. And with that conversation topic null a void, their efforts in trying to make sense of this new world were spent in silence. 

Pure, awkward silence. 

Stephen, although he'd never admit it, felt himself feeling frustrated with this silence. Like c'mon, they just had their whole drunken bonding session together, why did they always end up back here? It was always like they were back at square one, no matter what. 

His eyes drifted down to John's leg, noticing a limp that still resided since their encounter behind Hollywood Studios. "How's the leg been doing?" He asked, taking the responsibility of actually prolonging their...whatever relationship they had ( _friendship_ , he supposed?) 

John looked down at his leg, slightly caught off-guard, but not hostile towards the question itself. "It's getting better. Nobody's asked about it besides Ray, so I guess that's a sign. What about you? You haven't called for awhile."

He snickered. "Do you want me to call?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Strange."

Stephen shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly. "The Price hasn't gotten any worse. Doesn't mean it's gotten any better, but I can take care of myself." 

John nodded, finding himself almost engaged in this small talk of theirs. He opened his mouth to respond again, until his attention was caught by something else in the background. "Oh hey-- what's this?" 

As he ran past him, Stephen noticed a sudden tear behind him. He turned around, catching a glimpse of a small, flickering image being broadcast within the world. There was a figure descending in it, bathed in blue and red-- wait, was that _him?_

"It's me," Stephen said, mouth agape. "Wow..." 

"And you're saving the Avengers' arses," John watched the memory with a perked smile. Indeed, in the memory, Stephen was in the process of saving the Avengers from a winged green creature descending upon them-- a Nameless One. "Iron Man's on the ground." 

Stephen scratched the back of his neck, somewhat embarrassed as John chuckled at the encounter. "That was--uhm. That was our first meeting. They wandered into a whole magical ordeal, and I sort of saved them, I guess you could say." 

"Ahh," John put his hands on his hips, wearing a smile of admiration. "Definitely see what they saw in you." 

He rolled his eyes, flicking his hand at John. It was just one encounter, the Avengers saved him on numerous other occasions, it wasn't like he was "special."

His attention, however, was soon caught by yet another rip in the wall-- a portrait of John and...someone he presumed to be his friend. 

"Oh hello, hello, hello," he hummed, strolling over. "What is this?" 

John turned in curiosity, only for that curiosity to turn into mortification when he saw which memory Stephen was staring at. "You know what that--" 

"I knew you hooked up with your Captain before, but in a hospital?" Stephen laughed, arms crossed. "Do you know that they could have kicked you out of there if they saw you?" 

"Aw, pipe down! It was the 60s!" John's grimace turned back into a smug grin as he walked over to another rip right next to Stephen. "And at least I didn't spend my nights in Kathmandu lip syncing to Under Pressure. Not bad, not bad at all." 

Stephen looked over at the pocket that contained him during his Kamar-Taj days, rocking out when everyone was supposed to be sleeping. He couldn't be ashamed, he remembered that day fondly-- he conjured his first portal. He reckoned he deserved to celebrate. 

"Of course you didn't," he replied. "You were busy striking it big with your own shitty punk rock band." 

With an amused grin, he motioned to another rip in the sky, housing a portrait of a young punk John-- spiky hair, eyeliner, whole ordeal --onstage with Mucous Membrane. John ran up to Stephen, who had made it to the memory with his hands on his hips as he watched intently at the concert. 

"I think I listened to some of your tracks in college," he mused, scratching his chin. With an excited glee, he reached into the hole, pulling out one of the band's albums which boasted a young John striking a bastardly grin on the cover. "Must've confused you with Sting." 

"Give me that!" John snatched the album out of his hand and tucked it into his gown. Though he had to admit, he was flattered that Stephen had somewhat enjoyed his music back then. Those were the good old days, after all. "So I suppose we can infer this is some sort of dreamscape if this is what we're seeing. You think we can make it out of here with some sort of spell?" 

"We probably should," Stephen concurred, though he had to admit, he was having fun right where they were. But still, they couldn't stay there forever. They had jobs to do. And after seeing their memories sprout before them, he finally had a feeling as to where they were. "If I'm right, we're just in the--" 

But before he could say his hypothesis, he paused. Suddenly, he was staring at something. Something that John couldn't see. John looked at him with confusion, waving a hand in his face to see if he was still there. A hazy green glint shimmered in his eyes, and he proceeded to walk away from John. 

"Strange? You alright, love?" John asked, following in his steps. "Where are you going?" 

Stephen walked through a murky darkness, one that John hadn't even noticed until now. He had no idea what Stephen was doing, or even if he was still in the right mind, but it wasn't like he could abandon him. He tried to reach out to him, trying to place a hand on his shoulder, but every time Stephen just increased his speed, and he was just a little bit out of John's grip. 

Eventually, John saw light. He continued to follow Stephen out of the darkness and into a brand new scenery. 

A lake. Nestled in an open forest only a few minutes past nightfall. Stephen shuffled his feet in the grass with a baffled expression on his face, hypnotized by the sight. 

John tilted his head. "What's that?" 

"July, 1999," Stephen said warmly, keeping his eyes on the water. "I'm standing at the edge of a Nebraskan lake, and my sister is swimming. She's smiling. She's alive."

And then, from thin air, a young figure in a t-shirt and shorts appeared. 17 years young, a youthful smile, a blithe spirit. With an exhilarated laugh, she ran from the trees and dove straight first in the water. As she disappeared beneath the lake, Stephen peered with an unwavering, worried intrigue. 

Like a flower sprouting from the ground, the girl rose from the water with an uncontained smile, bellowing, 

_"Stevie!"_

A flicker of realization washed over John, and he looked at Stephen with an offered hand hovering above his shoulder. 

"Strange?" 

The girl's smile snapped into a fearful frown. Suddenly, she wasn't swimming anymore-- she was flailing. Stephen watched, mortified as his worst failure repeated itself right before him. 

"She's...She's drowning," he muttered. "And I'm watching. I can't save her. I can't save her. Why couldn't I save her? And then there was the funeral...and then Victor died next..." 

"Strange, eyes on me, love. It's not real." 

"I left Tom." 

Both of them froze, Stephen in bitter contemplation, John in sudden understanding. 

"That was your boyfriend, wasn't it?" 

He nodded. The scene shifted around the two of them. John watched as a man emerged from the depths of the pond, tan-skinned and well dressed. Stark raven hair, framing a bright face with enchanting dark brown eyes. A dimple nestled in his smile. 

And beside him, a youthful spirit, bearing a genuine smile and no streaks of gray in his hair. Completely carefree, completely stressless, reclined near the bed in a college dorm in nothing but his slacks. 

Wow. 

"I left him to become some shitty neurosurgeon," the Stephen of the present said, gazing at what he once had with a haunting melancholy. He stepped out, reaching into the mirage, only for it to ripple beneath his fingers. 

John watched as he stood in this position, someone yearning for something he lost long ago, and noticed at that moment just how heavy his breaths had become. 

He opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, but Stephen spoke before he could.

"And then I was driving." 

John blinked-- that's all he did --and the world shifted yet again. Now a murky night hung above them, and they were standing before a car. He focused intently on the driver; well-shaven, well-dressed, not a hair out of place. But more importantly, not a scar on his hands. 

"I was driving," Stephen repeated, dragging his hand against the holographic car. The memory played as his arm continued across. "I was driving, I was driving, I was driving-- and then I wasn't."

The car steered off the cliff, into the water. 

"It was cold. I woke up and my hands were..." he stared down at them, almost ashamed. After all these years, after everything that's happened, he still felt like he never rose above it. "They were _gone_." 

John watched the memory flicker in and out of sight. It was basically a hologram, all just a figment, but when he looked at Stephen again, he realized the doctor didn't understand that. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing was rapid, and he looked just as he did in that memory-- stuck in a dance of death. 

Bollocks, this was exactly what whatever being that trapped them here wanted, wasn't it? 

"Hey, Strange." He hovered his hands over Stephen, looking for a sign of consent from him. When Stephen looked up from his eyes, tears sinking down his face, with a small nod, he rested his hands gently on his shoulders. "Focus on me. Breathe." 

He stopped, trying to take a deep breath in the middle of his panicked hyperventilating. He was faking it, John could tell, but he was trying, and the green sheen had begun to disappear. He wasn't okay, but he wasn't in danger anymore. 

But John didn't know how long that was gonna last. 

"None of this is real, it's all in the past," John continued, struggling to keep himself together now. "I need you in the present. I need you--" 

He paused, freezing in place. As Stephen continued trying to regain his breath, he noticed that John wasn't looking at him anymore, but just past him. Knowing that what he was seeing wasn't pretty, he tossed his head over his shoulder and saw-- 

John released his hands, stepping back shakily. Eyes still locked on his subject, he drifted past Stephen and towards the figure caught in his sights. Stephen blinked, finally back where he needed to be. But John was still entranced. 

"John?" 

"My dad wasn't a nice man."

An emerald sheen glazed his eyes. Above him stood his father, just as towering and menacing as he remembered. But this time, he wasn't scared. He was just tired. All he could do was give out a bitter chuckle and a shake of his head. 

"My mum was dead, and the killer was me," he said with an exhale. "That's what he'd tell me every single year. Years and years and years of it, blaming me, scorning me, striking me--"

He shrugged at the silhouette of his father, holding his arms out to present himself. Him in all of his gruesome, depressing, sad sack glory. 

"Look at how I turned out." 

The silhouette raised his fist, and though John knew perfectly well that it was just an illusion, he instinctively screwed his eyes and prepared for the impact. 

He got a hand on his shoulder instead. When he opened them, he saw the image of a young woman clothed in a devil red blazer, a resentful look in her eyes. 

John froze.

"I sent a little girl to hell just to prove my ego." 

Astra smirked, in a way where John couldn't tell if it was out of malice or out of gratitude. She disappeared into thin air, and another, gentler hand made its way behind him. He had to force himself not to turn around-- he already knew exactly who it was. 

"I pushed the man I loved away." 

He couldn't help it, he turned around. But Desmond had disappeared as well. Standing in his place were his teammates, clouded in a poignant memory in a London pub where each of them faced their grisly, zombified deaths. All because they needed the Loom of Fate. 

All because _he_ needed the Loom of Fate. 

His breath hitched. "I am responsible for the deaths of my friends." 

The memory continued, replaying again, and again, and again, until he couldn't take it anymore. But he didn't look away for some reason. It was his fault, after all, he needed to face it. 

Stephen observed him, fear glinting in his expression. He was getting lost too-- that couldn't happen. Neither of them could afford that. He shook his head, but John had already forgotten he was there. 

"No, it isn't your fault, John," he told him, though he knew his attempts were in vain. The single memory flickered suddenly, unleashing an entire myriad of repellent memories around them. 

John stared at his life's clipshow before him, motioning to the dome around them. "There they go, clear as day! The spirits of my past come to light! Mock me, scorn me, seize me, no matter! It's all rubbish anyway..."

Stephen shook his head. "Constantine..." he pleaded, another desperate attempt to center him. 

"And you, the judge!" He spun around on his heels, snapping a finger at Stephen's face with a new found fervor. "What do you see? A madman? A scoundrel? A fiend? Tell me!"

"Consta--"

_"I asked you a question!"_

John was prepared to yell the question again, until Stephen placed his hands on his arms and held him, just as he did to him only moments before. 

He blinked, taking in his grip, and realized who was in front of him. 

Reality returned to him. The barriers surrounding them finally fell, revealing the same intoxicating sky they saw when they first woke up. 

His hands frantically climbed to Stephen's forearms as the memories evaporated. John didn't know what else to do, except hold on. Hold on for dear life. 

He stared into Stephen's eyes, anchoring himself in them. He saw Stephen breathe a sigh of relief at what was presumably the dark green glow vanishing from his eyes. The two stood there, together, wading in each other's presence, breathing deeply as one. 

He held onto him like he was life. Like if he let go of him, he'd drop dead right then and there. But then, once everything slipped away and he was back where he needed to be, he pushed Stephen away. He didn't mean to be so aggressive, but he was aggravated at this point. Some sodding creature was tampering with their brains, and for _what?!_

He circled the area with a paranoid rage, raising a fist at the collapsing stars with a newly found horrified statement. 

"W...What the bloody hell is this place?!"

"Constantine." Stephen said bluntly, watching something rising behind him. "Turn around."

And at that moment, as John followed Stephen's directions, he bore witness to a cacophony of orbs descending upon them. He reached out to Stephen, but a crimson sphere collided into him, knocking the air out of him and sending him spiraling. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Stephen being swept in the army. One moment he saw him, and then in another, he was gone. 

He couldn't see him anymore. 

The orb sent him through the air, and as he braced himself for the impact, he hoped he could at least find Stephen when he made it back to his senses. 

On the ground, he collapsed onto his back, forcing his eyes open despite the pain. His hospital gown was muddied up with bright orange stains, and a terrible rip had made its way down the front, exposing his bruised torso. But none of that was what he was focusing on. Coughing out a pile of stardust, raising his head in search of Stephen. 

Beyond what the eye could see were tracks and tracks of nothingness. Grass, flowers, deserted plains, and nothing else. He didn't stop looking. He was _somewhere_ , he just knew it. 

He couldn't be gone. No, he couldn't. He couldn't. 

John's eyes finally landed on something in the sky, something that didn't calm his beating heart, but made it stop instead. 

Hovering above the ground, surrounded by a transparent blue orb, was a limp ragdoll bearing a keen resemblance to his Master of the Mystic Arts.   
_  
"Strange!"_

With trembling legs, he forced himself back on his feet. He slammed one foot down after the other, running as fast as he could even in his debilitated state. He stumbled towards a staircase of colored orbs, squishy and light under his feet. The urge to fall could've crept up on him at any moment, but he had to stay steady. 

Against all odds, he made it to the bubble. Peering inside, he could tell he wasn't the only one thrown into poor condition. Stephen was hovering above a pillar, eyes shut, his breathing uneven. His hands rested on his stomach, and John was thankful that they weren't crossed across his chest. 

His hand drifted against the watery surface of the orb, before he stepped right through. When he made it in, he saw that Stephen was even paler than he initially thought. He could see his veins, a faded blue, plastered across his skin. 

A sleeping beauty indeed. 

Not knowing exactly what he could do now, John brought his hand just next to Stephen's face, almost close enough to touch it. "Strange...wake up..." 

And then he waited. He waited, even as he heard something crash in the distance. He waited, even as the stars continued to collide above him. He waited for Stephen to wake up. 

And like a miracle, Stephen's eyes slowly opened, widening as he took in John's face. John's mouth fell slightly, before beaming with relief. 

"Hi, love." 

Stephen leaned his head back into John's hand with a sapped gaze. 

"Where am I? Constantine? Where are we?"

John stroked his head comfortingly, trying to remember the events preceding this adventure himself. But in the moment, he took Stephen's shaking hand into his, and helped him back upwards. He felt Stephen's fingers lock into his, and whether it was conscious or unconscious, he didn't care. 

That was when he found his voice. 

"We're on a lonely street in New Jersey," he spoke, and at that moment he could finally remember the street where he found Stephen. "It's the middle of the night, and you need help. You called me here."

Stephen's eyes shifted around the bubble, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Uneasy, he repeated it. 

"I'm on a lonely street in New Jersey. Someone is haunting me. I grabbed my phone," he looked at John, the memory hitting him back. "I called you here."

John nodded. "You needed me."

"I needed you."

"And now I need you." 

John extended a hand. Stephen looked at it, then at John, and then grabbed it confidently. 

"You need me." 

The two gazed at each other, wanting to smile but knowing they couldn't drop their guards. They were back in their own minds, back in their elements. They couldn't let anything take them down now. Especially now that they were back together. 

"Strange--" John tipped his head, having a feeling Stephen would know the answer to his question now. "Who brought us here?"

Stephen brought a hand to his head, remembering their moments before. "We were knocked out. We woke up in hospital gowns. We travelled the dreamscape. We're being..."

He drifted off, a blank stare remaining on his face. John shook him lightly on the shoulder, pleading that he hadn't fallen back into another vision. 

"What is it?"

"We're in the Dream Dimension," Stephen said instantly, turning his head with a face of realization and fear. "We're being taunted...by _Nightmare_."

He was looking just past John now, and John had managed to swivel around to get an eyeful of a towering, scraggly, snow white man with a face as menacing as the visions he'd inflicted on the two of them. He wore a long sickly green coat, with a cloak not unlike Stephen's trailing behind him, nearly overtaking the sky. 

John was normally prone to apathy when it came to unfamiliar enemies, but he clenched his fists at the side of this creature. This-- this was new. 

"How perceptive, Doctor Strange," Nightmare trumpeted, a toothy grin rising on his face. "And by the _Gods_ , was it a delight? All of this baggage and these emotions--" he peered over at John, his grin tightening with unrestrained glee. "And your little friend was just a bonus! How swell!"

Stephen stared him down, narrowing his eyes. "Nightmare. Possessor of minds. Demon of fear. Manipulator of anarchy. Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" he sang in a mocking tone, shrugging obnoxiously. "Because I need power, I need magic, and what's more powerful than the universe's up-and-coming Sorcerer Supreme?"

"Sorcerer Supr- I swear, you wankers are just making shit up, aren't ya?!" 

John flicked his hands, igniting them with flames. This didn't do much to dispel Nightmare, however, as he turned his attention to John with an eager grin. 

"Your fears were especially delicious. All of that pent up insecurity, yearning to be released. I'm sure Neron will be excited to see you back in Hell!" 

John narrowed his eyes at him, but he didn't relent. Instead, he cackled-- a sickening, ear-splitting laugh that herald the heavens as his form shifted from a bony old man into a monstrous, winged creature. John stepped back, stunned by this sudden transformation. Still, he raised his hands, ready to face him head on. 

"You ready, Constantine?" 

He turned his head to see Stephen, who wasn't scared at all. In fact, he was _smiling_. 

"Hmm?"

Stephen looked at him with a determined glint in his eyes and an all-knowing smirk on his face. "It takes two to tango, after all."

And like that, Stephen took the first swing, unleashing a gust of wind at Nightmare and throwing him off his balance. He took flight, jumping out of the bubble and onto the ground. 

"Hey!" John called out, shooting a fireball at Nightmare to keep him occupied. He climbed down the orbular staircase as quickly as he could (which, being spheres, proved to be a challenge.) "Wait for me, love!" 

Eventually he made it onto the ground next to Stephen, but so did Nightmare, who launched a barrage of knives down upon them. Stephen raised an arm, summoning a bright orange shield to protect them. 

"Bind his powers to this realm," he told John. "I know you know a spell to do that." 

_Well_ , John thought, _it's kind of hard to think with a bunch of blades being sent at our heads_ , but he didn't say any of that. Instead, he just nodded at Stephen, because he knew Stephen believed in him, and ran off. 

His brain stumbled over trying to find a proper binding spell as he searched for ingredients. The shittiest thing about this dimension was that nothing looked like what it was supposed to. He tried to seek out basil, but what was basil? What was grass?! 

Something blew up behind him, and John turned his head to see Nightmare unleash a brigade of mini-lookalikes on Stephen. Time was of the essence, he just had to settle for what he had. 

Eyes dropping to the ground, he reached and plucked out a handful of pink leaves that at least _resembled_ basil. He didn't waste anytime plunging his finger into the blood red dirt and started carving the sigil into the ground. 

"Dammit!" 

He looked up momentarily, watching as Stephen was growing more and more overpowered by the little gremlins. Nightmare didn't give him a single moment to catch his breath. At the next second, he jerked his hand in his direction, charging a beam of light that Stephen struggled to deflect. 

Between holding off the mini-Nightmares and the real nightmare, he wouldn't have much energy left. John had to act _fast_. 

Turning his attention back at the ritual, he swiftly completed the circle and dropped the semi-basil in the middle. Once he whispered the proper incantation, his racing heartbeat eased a little as lightning shot up from the markings. He directed his hands in front of him and performed the gestures as needed. 

_"Ogmium conjuro te in regna potestas..."_

All of a sudden, the lightning turned a sickly shade of green-- the same green splattered across Nightmare's tunic. The lightning erupted into the sky, sprouting across the dimension in an emerald luster. 

Nightmare, to John's relief, was distracted by this spectacle. Both of them knew what this meant-- his powers were contained in this realm and this realm only until the one who performed the spell escaped. His plans to take his nightmares into the real world were shattered. 

Stephen took this opportunity to weaken him even further. "By the Moons of Munnopor!" he yelled, striking beams of energy shooting from his hands towards Nightmare, encasing him in an electrical surge. 

John ran up from the sigil and made his way to Stephen, who had sprung up from the ground and was smiling admirably at him. John couldn't help but smile back. 

"That's a new one."

Stephen opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp blast to his chest sent him hurtling back. John staggered back, his mouth agape as he watched Stephen collide to the ground, clutching his chest. 

"Strange!"

Nightmare descended to the ground, approaching the two of them as menacingly as possible. But John paid him no mind as he raced towards Stephen's limp body. 

His eyes were snapped shut. Galaxy-coated ooze dripped from his chest, right beneath his hand. John kneeled down next to him, shaking him for any sort of response. 

"C'mon, Strange, wake up, you can't be done yet, love."

A slap in the face, a howl of pain, anything-- anything! --that could signify he was still alive. John was tired, not just from the mental pain Nightmare had put them both through, but from this constant rollercoaster. First Stephen was alive, then he was nearly dead, then he was back to normal, then he was unconscious on the ground. 

He was exhausted from caring about him this much. 

Without any other response from Stephen, with no other tricks up his sleeve, John decided he needed to do anything at this point. He placed his hands on Stephen's, his fingers falling onto the cosmic blood staining his gown, and blessed him. 

_"Ex corde terrae suscipe benedictionem hanc, et det tibi melioratio."_

He wasn't a healer. Blessings weren't his field by any means, but he had a sliver of knowledge. As a golden glow illuminated faintly from Stephen's wound, he hoped that sliver was enough. He rested his head onto his hands, falling victim to his exhaustion. And soon, he suspected, he'd be falling victim to Nightmare as well. 

Something moved beneath him. 

Lifting his head weakly, John opened his eyes to see Stephen's hands moving. When he glanced at his face, he saw Stephen was blinking his eyes open, returning to this realm. 

John smiled, moving his head to look at Stephen fully. Stephen's eyes opened wider once he took in John's presence, and he kept his eyes on him as he moved to sit up. 

"Stephen." 

"John."

And both of them, in their absolutely drained states, were too caught up in the relief of one another to acknowledge that they had finally said each other's names out loud. Names that once ran through their heads mindlessly, repressed and resented, now brought to life without a second thought. 

John flashed him a simple grin as a sign of thanks, not even asking before taking his shoulders and helping him to his feet. 

"Let's take this sodding wanker down once and for all." 

Stephen gave him a smile in return, still holding onto his hand as John directed a hand-- _their_ hands --forward at Nightmare. He felt John's hand drift to his hip, and in that moment decided a hand on his shoulder would be fitting. 

Nightmare raised an eyebrow in confusion, but shot another rod in their direction. However, Stephen was able to summon a barrier that directed the energy back in his direction. 

And from there, they danced. 

With a mutual zeal of confidence, the two of them stepped forward in tandem, Stephen leading him into a routine as their magic gathered. 

"I didn't know you could dance," John remarked as Stephen pulled him into a spin. A burst of lightning split from their hands, sending Nightmare backwards momentarily. 

"I'm full of surprises," he smirked, nodding his head. He pulled John into a dip, feeling a rush of pride as he noticed a blush beginning to tint his face. "Now, how about you land the finishing blow?" 

John tilted his head, a chuckle bursting from his lips. 

"Gladly." 

Shuffling around, John aimed his hand right back at Nightmare and began to chant.

_"Commotae Erebi de caligo, exaudi orationem, et vires extollere, ut pellem!"_

Nightmare was ready to strike again, but right before he could, his wings dissipated into thin air. He fell to his knees, collapsing into the frail figure he possessed when he first revealed himself known. 

"N-No..." he pleaded, raising his head to the duo. "You can't do this..." 

The two looked at each other with a mutual self-satisfied smirk, and Stephen glared back at Nightmare for them. 

"Watch us." 

Nightmare clawed at the two of them, but John was already in the process of blasting him away. The demon was shot backwards, sinking into the ground, raising one last hand in a final, desperate attempt to be saved. 

The two magicians watched as their monster was finally defeated. But with the death of the monster, soon came the death of his world. Looking up, both of them watched as the constellations clouding the sky shifted into cracks. The sky was literally falling. 

And they didn't care. 

"You ready to wake up?" Stephen asked, keeping his eyes on John. 

He nodded in response, not a word to be said. 

As the world collapsed around them, John felt himself sinking back into unconsciousness. But at the very least, after all of this, he could at least find peace knowing he was sinking with Stephen beside him. 

* * *

This time, he was the second one to wake up, luckily back in his trenchcoat and slacks. He was spread out on the gravel of New Jersey, and as he brought himself to his feet, he saw a familiar face spinning around the area. 

"We did it," Stephen said, excited to be back in the real world. "We did it!" 

"We're back to the land of the living," John dug his hand into his trenchcoat, grinning as he brushed his hand against his beloved cigarette tin. "This calls for a celebratory smoke, wouldn't you say?" 

He lit one up, offering it to Stephen, though wasn't surprised when he raised his hand to refuse.

"I'm more interested in getting some rest," he responded, proving his own point with a yawn. "Hey, you wanna stay at the Sanctum for the night?" 

"Again?" John asked, pursing his lips together. 

"Yeah, I mean I have a ton of spare beds." Stephen rubbed the back of his neck, almost embarrassed by his own question. John paused, thinking over the offer for a brief moment, before lighting out his cigarette and walking over to him. 

"I'd love to, but I kind of have my own house to get to," he smiled, raising an eyebrow. "But we can have lunch tomorrow, if you want." 

He found great delight in the way Stephen momentarily stumbled over his words as he tried to find a response. But despite that small moment of awkwardness, he still admired the plain charm he had as he smiled before formally replying with, 

"That would be great." 

And so, it was a date. But of course, neither of them would say it as precisely as that. 

As the two parted ways, their adventure fresh in their minds, they considered the idea that maybe these run-ins weren't so bad after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> next chapter probably won't take so long, it's pretty short in comparison. it'll feature much less "are we friends?" tensions between stephen and john and dive straight into them being buddies, but that's pretty much all i'll say about that. 
> 
> also, i really hope they introduce (well, "introduce" in quotes) donna strange in the MCU at some point, it would add so much to his character and his themes of survivor's guilt and pacifism. that's mainly why i put her in this story, the trauma of her death affected stephen greatly in the comics and it feels weird to have that detail opted out in the movie. i know that there's a deleted scene from the first movie, but that just makes me hope even more that they'll go over that in multiverse of madness. 
> 
> until next time!


End file.
